


Refractory Sunset

by ChocolateCarnival



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Eroticism, Explicit Sexual Content, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Merlin/Eggsy platonic, Older Man/Younger Man, Pining, Political Aspects, Power Play, Psychological Drama, Slow Burn, Temporary Amnesia, The Golden Circle rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-02-06 05:58:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12811137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolateCarnival/pseuds/ChocolateCarnival
Summary: ~'Time was a saccharine poison, a silver-tongued, bittersweet
        benediction that mounted countless unspoken fears upon a delicately
        curved brow.'~It all started with a single gunshot, poison and a policy of no return.
    Protocol placed him at the highest position in Kingsman, a fact that Eggsy
    Unwin now had to live with every day of his life. Yet, when the whispers of
    betrayal nearly wipe out the agency he works so hard to protect; bitter
    hope leads him across the pond to Kentucky upon doomsday...the one place he
    had sworn he would never step foot in.





	1. Prologue: Upon His Ashes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [If heaven thou canst not bend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7683979) by [concernedlily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/concernedlily/pseuds/concernedlily). 



> Hello Again, my Honeys.
> 
> I apologize that I've switched out fandom's so fast. I've decided to explore my deepest love indefinitely. This piece was inspired by the As above, so below series by concernedlily. I simply adore the concept of Eggsy as Arthur, it opens such a vast and complex idea on the inner workings of Kingsman. I always enjoyed writing dark psychological and political pieces and this was simply a must write. 
> 
> I'm endeavouring to update once every 2 weeks with a new chapter, since I'm usually so busy and my writing in very intensive. It takes days to sculpt it into what it is. 
> 
> Please note that warning's are included in the tags and will be updated as the story goes along. I hope that I can write this into a more satisfying and intense counter to the Golden Circle ending.

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2hcmibn)

_Prologue: Upon His Ashes_

Time was a saccharine poison, a silver-tongued, bittersweet benediction that mounted countless unspoken fears upon a delicately curved brow. White trainer-clad feet were drumming a familiar, fast-paced, rhythm across London’s complex street grid as lithe muscles propelled a willing body across rain drenched pavements, leaping atop low-slung apartment walls and scaling impossibly tall fences. 

Gary “Eggsy” Unwin was resolutely determined to outrun the ghosts haunting his very steps that morning; the shining brilliance of a slow breaking dawn mercilessly shattering the deep quiet settled across his mind. The last vestiges of drizzling rain was hanging like polished diamonds from the downy tips of burnished copper locks. 

The familiar weight of Kingsman issue glasses, slipping precariously down the slope of a perfectly straight nose; straightened out a second later as the twenty-five-year-old reached up to resituate them back in place. The early morning fog was already swallowing up a large portion of the capital’s notorious jagged skyline; the usual screech and bustle of a listless Saturday night quietening down to a more manageable level. 

Quietly drawn in breaths were misting silver-white between luscious petal pink lips, viridian green eyes sharpening with calculated caution as an unexpected and looming shadow crossed his path a few meters ahead. When Eggsy took notice of the small dog trailing devotedly behind its owner, it became clear the two were merely out for a morning walk. 

A soft greeting was soon tugging up the corners of his lips, a cheeky wink accompanying the whispered ‘mornin’’ as he skilfully weaved through touching shadows and leaped across a tightly drawn dog leash. His chaotically swirling thoughts were already returning to that deafening drone in the back of his mind, his body lazily cataloguing the steady thrum of blood in his veins and the rising exhilaration that skittered like electricity across his skin. 

There was no pain quite yet, no _burning_ need to oxygenate his lungs. It would take a fair bit more to tire him out. The intensive training Kingsman recruits endured was far more strenuous than a lazy Sunday morning run. Yet, Eggsy still hoped the exercise would drown out the numb melancholy encircling his soul. It was a daily struggle to forget, these days. To push aside that split second of terror that had carved a hole through his very soul and reverberated with lethality only a single gunshot can induce—. 

_‘Oh, fer feck’s sake, lad.’_ A startlingly loud Scottish brogue suddenly rumbled in his ear. _‘Do yeh_ have _to break security protocol at five in the feckin’ morning?’_ A distinguished note of irritation was already curling possessively through the Scotsman’s burr, almost as if he had not expected a fully trained agent to slip passed the cameras and guards set up around Stanhope Mews. It was a fact that startled a delighted laugh from the back of Eggsy’s throat. Merlin really should have known better by now. 

‘ _Really_ , Merlin?’ He teased cheekily. ‘A good monrin’ to y’ too, bruv.’ His own South London accent was thickening with delight, a quiet chuckle echoing through the morning air as he received an exasperated snarl in return for his response. A call like this was usually expected around eight in the morning, when Merlin had had the chance to check through the monitors in his office. However, since it wasn’t the first time Eggsy had disappeared from his home without a word, it did not come as a complete surprise. 

‘Have a good rest yet, guv?’ He continued without stopping. ‘Burnin’ through the midnight oil? I thought today was me day off, yours too. It’s fuckin’ Sunday, after all.’ There was a regretful sigh tickling the shell of his ear, a soft but urgent argument echoing in the background of the feed as the heavy _clink_ of a porcelain mug distracted any intentions he had of listening in. 

_‘I know, lad. I’m sorry.’_ Came the quietly murmured apology, the softer but more serious tone threading through the handler’s voice causing the younger agent’s footsteps to stall. The pavement was still bitterly wet beneath trainer-clad feet, a sigh of resignation spilling irritably passed parted lips as the twenty-five-year-old tilted his head to glare at the lightening sky above. 

It was going to be pissing soon, he thought to himself. How _utterly_ charming, even the weather reflected his current shit mood. 

‘Right. What do you need, Merlin?’ Perfectly clipped consonants were rolling smoothly from the tip of a pink tongue, a distinctive cockney accent melting away to something smoother and more professional as the twenty-five-year-old turned on his heel and headed back the way he came. A morning that started out like this never ended well, especially when it was supposed to be the first day in over four months he had off. 

_‘We need yeh to come in, Arthur.’_ Merlin responded swiftly. _‘There’s been a security breech at HQ. One of the Bors candidates have gotten a little too chummy with an R & D Engineer. I’ve been tracking the information he has been wheedling from our system since his arrival a week ago.’ _

_‘Last night, a failsafe was triggered in Berlin. I’ve been alerted this morning he was the one attempting to make the sell.’_

‘Well _fuck_ ,’ Eggsy swore colourfully. ‘ _Please_ tell me you have the information contained, Merlin.’ A security breech in a top secret spy organization; operating at the highest level of discretion, was possibly one of the worst disasters to wake up to on a Sunday morning. 

‘I want Camelot locked down for the next twenty-four hours,’ He instructed carefully. ‘Can y’ disconnect the tube after my arrival and silence the shop for as long as we need?’ The lazy morning Eggsy had been hoping to spend in Harry’s home, quietly resting the ache in his soul and drinking away the bitter tears that clung to his lashes after weeks of too little sleep and too much frustration, had just run through his fingertips like ash. 

_‘Aye, the information has already been contained, Arthur.’_ Merlin confirmed with an irate growl, almost as if he had mistaken Eggsy’s concern for incompetence. _‘The candidates currently do not know anything is amiss, they are carrying on as normal with unseen guards and cameras following their every move.’_

_‘The final judgement will fall on the Table, however. Even as a mere formality. I have already assembled the Knights, lad, so get a move on. Final lockdown cannot be delayed beyond 06:30 GMT.’_

Nodding his understanding at the clipped order, viridian green eyes finally glanced down at the elegant Bremont encircling his wrist as the weight of the world suddenly descended upon his shoulders. Shit, there was only ten minutes left for him to make it home, another forty to get presentable, return to the shop and then use the last half hour for the bullet train. 

It was going to be cutting it fucking close. 

‘Thanks, Merlin.’ He breathed softly, hoping the softly spoken words would be enough to appease the older man’s simmering irritation as he treaded a much quicker path home. Now that his mind had been jolted into forced wakefulness, Eggsy could only reel internally at what would be faced at the Table today. 

A deep scowl was settled firmly between perfectly shaped brows, petal pink lips pulling down into a delicate frown as the slide of comfortable black track pants and a zip up hoodie did little to soothe away his returning anxiety. 

_‘Aye. Keep yer eyes and ears open too, Arthur. I like to think I don’t miss much, but I am not omnipotent.’_ That startled a small laugh from Eggsy’s lips, he was pretty sure that almost everyone in the organization saw Merlin as an omnipotent tech-wizard. 

‘Arthur, out.’ Signing off with the press of a small button at the side of his glasses, the right lens flashed briefly with a list of important calls and messages still waiting to be answered as a quick flick of long lashes and roving pupils silenced them with a short, simultaneous, message: 

_“ Camelot: ETA, 6:20”_

Fuck, wasn’t this just a lovely way to start Sunday? __

*** __

The resounding hiss of humid steam was gleefully escaping a newly opened shower door, the steady _drip_ , _drip_ , _drip_ of a shut off shower head echoing dully throughout the extravagant _en suite_ as stray drops of water contoured to a perfectly sculpted back. Newly invigorated limbs were gliding silently across the cold tile floor, the youthful King hurrying towards the master bedroom as ever passing time dictated a more urgent haste. 

A fluffy white towel, draped sensually around a thinly tapered waist, tumbled carelessly to the floor as silk pants and charcoal grey, pinstriped, trousers soon concealed warm flesh from sight. A crisp white shirt soon followed, the tails tucked neatly into his waistband as Eggsy briefly considered the dark blue silk tie laid out on the bed. 

It was not his own… 

Reverent fingertips were trailing softly across the slippery fabric, viridian eyes burning painfully with the reminder of its owner as shaky movements smoothed the silk into place beneath his collar. It felt like a lifetime ago that Harry Hart had sat him down in front of this very same mirror, teasing fingers brushing against the back of his protégé’s nape every now and then as he taught him several different ways to knot a tie. 

And now, all Eggsy could recall was the honeyed warmth that had spread through whiskey brown eyes whenever their gaze collided in the looking glass and the slow hint of a smirk that had tickled the edges of the older agent’s mouth—. 

Fuck! Swallowing down the sudden spike of anguish that lanced through his heart, Eggsy swiftly pushed aside the erratic flow of his thoughts as the snap of gold cufflinks brought forth a new wave of urgency. The smooth glide of a perfectly tailored double-breasted jacket, coming to rest across broad shoulders, conformed bodily to every inch of his short, stocky, frame. 

Pinstriped fabric, bulletproof and deadly, completed the defensive ensemble as steady hands eventually reached for the weapons laying on the vanity before him. Two dual barrelled pistols; a comforting weight against the palm of his hands, slipped seamlessly into the black leather holsters tailor-made to fit the small of his back as elegant fingertips slid on a pair of Kingsman issue glasses. 

Glimmering russet gold locks, impeccably parted with a layer of sweet smelling pomade, richly accented the aroma of expensive cologne as black Oxfords, polished to a high sheen, hurried down the steps two at a time. Haunted viridian green eyes still refused to glance towards the sunset office sealed away from sight, it was the one room in the house that still retained bitter memories. 

When the ivory face of his Bremont watch read five-forty-eight a.m., the patter of excitable puppy paws greeted its master by the front door. Large brown eyes were staring up at Eggsy expectantly, the pleading adoration in the pug’s face shattering the young agent’s resolve as J.B twirled in excitable circles on the floor. He was groaning and huffing with delight, preening with wriggling tail and snuffling sneezes as his master leaned down to lavish him with morning pets. 

‘Sorry luv,’ Eggsy cooed apologetically, manicured nails scratching up and down the pug’s silky fur. ‘I can’t take y’ in today, there’s some trouble in the office.’ Eventually shooing away his companion before it could get any later, Arthur reached for the last and most important piece of his weapons cache. 

Indolent fingers were curling expectantly around the handle of a well-used Rainmaker, the handle hooking over the crook of his elbow as a familiar spark of adrenalin swirled the scent of his mentor, mixed with blood and gunpowder, across the tip of his nose. It was almost as if the essence of Harry Hart was embedded in the trundled fabric, waiting patiently to explode outwards the moment the umbrella was opened for combat. 

Only, there was no more time to indulge himself in bitter recollection. The front door was slamming shut behind him with a heavy finality, an automatic lock sliding into place as the careful veneer Eggsy built over the last year and a half as Arthur, trickled in suave waves over his form. There was an oppressive hardness reflected in viridian green eyes, the striking irises flickering blue-green-blue with sharpened determination as a sinuous gait and careful confidence carried him steadily towards the shop. 

Saville Row was like a silent mausoleum in the early morning dawn, a low rumble of thunder reflecting the synchronicity of the world’s fast souring mood as powerfully compact muscles moved with a natural, carnal, grace. An easily adaptable poise was lending the young agent a razor edge of carefully contained death, his body carrying forth with straight shouldered dignity as the seamless glide of polished Oxfords and a swaying umbrella accentuated the deadly darkness enfolded beneath his skin. 

It was difficult to believe the hell he had clawed his way up from two years ago, his blundering past then as much a part of his charm as the gentleman he was now. Harry had been the only one that had looked passed the prickly outside he had fashioned to protect himself. He had _seen_ the potential Eggsy possessed inside of him, the deep loyalty stitched into his soul and the compassion weaved through his heart. It was the reason Galahad had made the effort to draw it out of the boy, to build him up with tender words and a firm hand. 

And then the world went to shit… 

Now all Eggsy was left with was the pain of Harry’s disappointment, the unstable guilt he felt for spewing words of hate in fit of temper and leaden regrets he could never take back. It was— 

‘Good morning, Sir.’ A voice suddenly interrupted his melancholy, the cautious eyes of Dagonet greeting him from over the shop counter as a shocked palm let go of the brass handle he had not even realized he had opened. Kingsman Tailors was a gloomy abyss in the darkness, the artistic lighting having been dimmed for safety reasons as the doors clicked shut behind him with an automatic _snick_.  
  
They were approaching final lockdown. 

‘Morning.’ He returned with a strained smile, the older man sure to notice the dark marks poorly concealed behind the black frames of his glasses. Eggsy was already strung out with exhaustion, even if the day had barely started and his problems only just surfaced. He was standing tall under the tailor’s knowing scrutiny however, the small tip of the older man’s head encouraging him towards fitting room one as he gathered the last of his energy reserves around him like a cloak. 

‘I’ll be leaving Avalon in your care, Dagonet. Please look after her.’ With that, the door swung shut behind him with swift finality. A brief ping resounded from his glasses, letting him know that Merlin had sealed off all the previous escape routes and forwarded a list of encrypted passwords to the corner of his right lens before they flickered away. 

The thirty minute journey to Camelot was punctuated only by the Scotsman’s distinctive burr, his deep baritone filling Eggsy in on the more important details of the situation as he was lulled into a calmer and more relaxed state. His head was lolling back against the plush tartan seat, Harry’s black Rainmaker coming to rest across his knees as viridian green eyes slipped shut for a precious few seconds of silence. 

Fuck, he _really_ hoped his fingers were light enough to swipe Merlin’s perpetual mug of tea right from under his nose that morning. The handler always brewed his concoctions poisonously strong, like a guaranteed caffeine high for seventy-two hour workdays. Fuck, but could the man make _tea_ —. 

‘I see yer only half with us, Arthur.’ An amused brogue rumbled abruptly, a cheeky smile greeting the older man as he stood on the other side of the office with heavily tensed shoulders and a stern expression marring his features. 

Right, security breech. 

‘Hey, Merlin.’ He greeted jovially, a reassuring squeeze to the tech-wizard’s shoulder unknowingly relieving the handler of his precious mug of tea as the young king swayed passed him with the steaming rim already pressed against his lips. ‘Fuck that’s good.’ He swore after a heady sip or two, briefly catching Merlin’s tensing fingers on his state-of-the-art clipboard as sharp hazel brown eyes narrowed in response to his cheek. 

‘Y’ve got to teach me how to make this shit.’ He purred pleasantly, pretending not to see the amused twitch of lips that ruined the handler’s usually stoic expression as he made no move to reclaim his tea or scold the agent for his actions. 

‘Hmm.’ Was Eggsy’s only response, a splayed hand ushering him towards the open conference room as a large mahogany table came into view. It was already filled for the meeting, two agents actively present and seven others glimmering in the greenish hue of holographic projections. At the head of the table, before a throne-like chair, an innocent looking black folder laid in wait. 

Eggsy knew _exactly_ what that meant, the gold tassel cord was concealing several documents meant for his eyes only. A reluctant sigh was slipping passed petal pink lips, alerting him to the fact that there was no escape. The Kingsman already _knew_ what this meant, they expected it. And in less that twenty-four hours there would be several body bags of a family in the morgue and another layer of blood on his hands. 

‘Right, let’s get this started then, gentlemen and lady.’ 

Steepled fingertips were folded neatly atop smoothly polished wood, dark green eyes surveying the various expressions of stoic reserve and anger reflected back at him as his clipped cadence evened out to a more professional tone. Kingsman did not harbour traitors, they did not show mercy nor did they ever forget the horrors the previous king had instilled upon them. Sworn secrecy was entwined with their every breath, there was _no_ middle ground. 

Time was, as always, poisonous. A silver-tongued, bittersweet benediction. And King Arthur wielded it like a weapon. 

***


	2. Chapter 1: On Our Honour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello My Honeys, 
> 
> Sorry this one was so late, I was a bit stuck on it until I forced myself to sit down and write it. Turns out it was a lot of fun, hehe. There isn't much to say so please enjoy.

**_Chapter 1: On Our Honour_**

Ash. Smoke. Rain saturated stone, dying flame and sickening smoulder. Numb betrayal was slowly creeping up the length of a painfully straightened spine, a scene of shocking tragedy spread out before disbelieving viridian green eyes as the ruination of Avalon decorated haphazard fragments of brick and twisted metal across rain-wet pavement. There was no logical way anyone could have survived the initial blast, a blanket of dust hanging unacknowledged in the air as a mirror to the leftover cinders and ash of Camelot’s Hertfordshire Hall. 

  
Some over confident, insane, lunatic had decided declaring war on one of the world’s most powerful independent intelligence agencies was a viable option for a Monday night. Had decided to take out every Kingsman agent seated at the Table, every property of note, millions of pounds in damage and—. The familiar weight of Kingsman issued glasses was suddenly too heavy, an eerie static resounding deafeningly over the comm.’s in honour of several uncalled for sacrifices as a familiar black Rainmaker shielded the young King Arthur from bitter deluge. 

  
Eggsy had yet to hear a single whisper from Percival, Gawain, Kay, Dagonet, Bedivere, Lancelot—. The list went on: his knights, his employees, HQ, Merlin’s Tech department, the staff of tailors at the shop— all of whom he had slowly gotten to know over the past year as the head of their organization. They had all been obliterated by the launch of numerous instantaneous long-distance, unhackable, uncrackable, surface-to-air missiles. 

  
This situation bore an uncanny resemblance to the deafening _bang_ invading his life, that single moment forever suspended in time where Harry Hart stood weaponless, unafraid and unmoving before his enemy—. 

  
Struggling not to collapse under the weight of newly awoken emotions unfolding in the depths of his soul, the twenty-five-year-old agent was becoming increasingly desperate to escape the muddied thoughts imprisoning his senses. A deadly and unfamiliar detachment was flowing bittersweet through iced veins, previously controlled breaths rasping painfully in the back of his throat as great, shuddering, inhalations wracked a previously stillframe. 

_  
_ Trembling fingertips were pointing the tip of dual barrel pistol at the ground with no viable threat to take his frustration out upon, Merlin standing in solidarity behind his back regardless of not having an umbrella himself as the last of the Kingsman taxis idled in wait a few shops down the Row. Having escaped the destruction by the skin of his teeth when he insisted on watching Arthur’s feed from home after three days of little more than four-hours of sleep, the sombre Scotsman was calmly and earnestly informing their King of the agencies fucked up fate. 

  
They were the only two agents currently left in England, the only two officially titled Knights capable of responding to the declaration of war in kind. And by kind, he meant with lethal force and blackened vengeance. J.B, having accompanied his master for an evening outing with the Prime Minister and several other cabinet members, had planted his furry little behind on the ground between finely polished black oxfords as he carefully drew his pudgy body closer to his human’s side. The scent of despair and bitten back tears was almost too much for even him to ignore, never mind the overwhelmingly stink of wet smoulder. 

  
Elegant leather gloves immediately tightened on a black leash, the twist of a heel spinning the younger man around to face his handler as he waited patiently for the older man to continue. 

  
‘As the only surviving agents present, Arthur.’ Merlin started carefully. ‘We’ll be initiating Doomsday Protocol.’ 

  
‘Shit!’ Eggsy cursed. 

  
Arthur and Merlin. 

  
Merlin and Arthur. 

  
For _Queen_ and _Country._

_  
_ Eggsy’s world abruptly shattered. Had Merlin not spent several months preparing and drilling archaic protocols into him after taking on Arthur’s mantle, he would have had no idea what the _fuck_ they were supposed to do in a situation such as this. Nor would he have known the exact contents of the concealed vault at Berry Bros. & Rudd on St. James’ Street: a single malt whiskey brewed by Statesman in 1926 — their espionage cousins across the pond in Kentucky. A fact that he came across by pure accident when Roxy urged him to research the restricted tombs of his position in Camelot’s library. 

  
‘Fuck!’ He swore violently, stubbornly swiping away droplets of saline that clung to long black lashes behind thick framed glasses as the late night spring rain soaked a balmy caress through perfectly tailored charcoal trousers. A light cashmere coat, perfectly tailored to accentuate his form, and a formal white silk scarf; carefully concealed the stylish black bow tie and dark, hunter-green tuxedo jacket he wore beneath. The quintessential British weather was roiling poignantly in accompaniment to clashes of thunder and flashes of lightning, the broken clouds of rain underlying England’s own fury at their betrayal. 

_  
_ All they currently had to go on was Roxy’s last minute report over the comm.: a flimsy rumour of a drug cartel named the Golden Circle, a shadow organization that possessed enough resources to not only erase all physical traces of a person’s identity (as proven by the henchman they had eliminated a few days ago in Hyde Park), but also the ability to use high-tech, highly illegal missiles to blow up over ten different location across British soil without as much as a by-your-leave. 

  
There really was no other way out of this, Eggsy mourned internally. They were going to have to go through, to enlist the help of another agency. They were going to Kentucky, America. The one state Arthur had sworn he would never step in himself if god permitted. The vivid memory of his mentor’s death and the resounding echo of a single gunshot was still far too painful to revisit, whether in the next twenty years or in the next twenty hours. 

  
Only, there was no other choice. 

  
Jesus _Christ_! Everything was a _fucking_ mess! The twenty-five-year-old could barely keep himself together, unsteady footsteps leading him back to the taxi idling in the distance as glittering drops of rain slid precariously off of newly trundled fabric. He was gathering the Rainmaker Galahad had had in his possession the first day they met, carefully laying it against his side as an exhausted temple came to rest against the car window. He was waiting patiently for Merlin to slide into the seat next to him, decisively giving the driver their next destination as he explained already knowing of the contents hidden in the vault. 

  
Neither one of them offered a word of conversation thereafter, both silently hoping the reserve Kingsman jet at Heathrow Airport was stocked with enough weaponry and tailored suits to survive their current predicament. Eggsy sure as fuck wasn’t arriving at Statesman dressed for a black tie gala like some bad Bond film, thank you very much. Regardless of wearing a gorgeous Dagonet creation, one of the low-danger suits Arthur usually wore to attend formal events across the globe. It wasn’t exactly prime bulletproof material. 

  
All Eggsy could think about was the number of worlds he would burn to ash to simply catch a glimpse of another one of Harry’s beautifully pristine ties, the smallest piece of his beloved Mentor that had become as much a part of Eggsy’s integral personality as the smooth consonants and deadly words he wielded like swords when slipping into his designation. Alas, everything had gone up in flame with his heart — even his home in Stanhope Mews. 

  
At least, he consoled himself, at least he still had Merlin. Eggsy had no idea what he would have done without the stalwart Scotsman’s constant support, his lingering presence was a soothing balm to the younger agent’s rising panic. They had faced the end of the fucking world together, saved it, murdered a megalomaniac and now they were once more preparing to step over that same precipice into the unknown. 

  
The veritable world was going to shit. And Eggsy Unwin was shivering in his seat, disoriented and numb with shock as they eventually moved from the comfortable confines of the taxi to the interior of Kingsman’s private jet. Situated in a military hanger off runway Seven-C, it didn’t take long to settle on board as time slowed to a disgusting crawl. Eggsy had no idea how long they waited to take off, all he was aware of was steadily drowning in the nightmare of his real life as he struggled to think, to breathe…his mind a whirl of dizzying despair as—. 

  
‘Arthur, yeh need to get some rest. Yeh just returned from a mission yesterday and a private meeting with the PM. There’ll be twelve hours until we land, lad. Yeh haven’t had any proper rest in over twenty-four-hours.’ 

  
‘No.’ Eggsy interjected firmly. ‘I can’t sleep! No matter ‘ow I try, Merlin!’ He hissed, South London accent thickening with delayed sentiment as he dragged restless fingers through carefully coiffed russet gold hair. ‘I just can’t fuckin’ deal with it right now! Roxy, Alistair, Dagonet… it’s—!’ He howled in anguish, taken off guard by the hitching names spilling painfully from the tip of his tongue as he shook his head violently in denial. Eggsy couldn’t take it, he had caused this mess. If he had been faster, been able to kill that prick, Charlie Hesketh before he got away. If he had realized a mechanical arm had been left behind in the taxi, if he had—. 

  
No, he wasn’t doing this. This was not the time nor place for hysterics, Eggsy reminded himself. Merlin was right, he needed to rely on his disassociation and torture training. Only after they had sorted out this mess, set things to rights and returned home to rebuild what was left would he be allowed to shed a tear for his comrades in private. 

  
He needed to gather his fuckin’ strength, stay calm and _carry_ on. 

  
‘Easy, Eggsy.’ A reassuring hand came to rest upon his shoulder, the gentle pressure of it trembling with the handler’s own internal battle after he levelled the plane at thirty-thousand-feet and engaged the autopilot. The former RAF Captain was settling himself into the tartan and leather chair next to Eggsy, the back of his head lolling restlessly against the seat as he eventually rose to his feet and made his way over the fully stocked bar in the corner. 

  
‘Rest yer eyes for a while, lad.’ He soothed. ‘Have a drink, pet yer puppy and calm yerself. We’ll talk about our next plan of action when yer ready.’ A crystal tumbler of single malt scotch was soon pressed into the palm of his hand, the deep amber liquid briefly vibrating against the clear cut glass as it warmed the presence of icy fear crystalized in the marrow of his bones. It was smoothing out the jerky, restless, fingertips previously having petted a small, furry, body curled in his lap. 

  
J.B’s contented snores soon echoed through the main cabin, tired green eyes gazing absently ahead as the jet cut effortless paths through thick storm clouds with surprisingly little turbulence. The young King was losing himself in a bubbling need for revenge, vowing to leave nothing but ash of whoever orchestrated their end. He would not back down, not offer a single chance for them to dance to the tune of their victory. 

  
Eggsy Unwin had been declared Arthur, the King of an international spy organisation just over a year ago. And even then, his mind was filled with enough secrets to topple capitals, dissolve Kingdoms and shatter cities all over the globe. There was no _way_ he was letting this slight against Kingsman go, against his friends and _family_. They would forever be remembered. 

* * * * 

‘For the _last_ time, we have nothing to protect but our honour. So yeh can take yer cheap horse piss that yeh call whiskey, which by the way is spelt without an ‘e’; and is _nothing_ compared to a single malt scotch and you can go and fuck yerself.’ An unprofessional snort was bursting unexpectedly from the depths of heaving lungs, the young King Arthur valiantly attempting to stifle the uncontained chuckles trickling passed his lips as he desperately hunted the last shreds of his dignity. 

  
This was the point in time where things became too much. After all the shit he had waded through during the last twenty-four-hours just to get here, it was no surprise that manic hysteria was steadily breaking through the chains of his sanity. Infringing on a secure intelligence facility with ‘nothing but an itty-bitty old watch on’ and dressed in ‘them fine suits and them fancy specs’ (according to their interrogator); Eggsy Unwin reluctantly acknowledged that the situation had gotten out of hand. His mind was already a cottony mess of dazed thoughts, the room spinning in dizzying circles above him as he struggled to combat the after-effects of his own tranquilizer dart. 

  
His tongue was stuck, swollen, and irritable against the roof of his mouth. The redness of his skin, hidden beneath the bespoke cut of a Gainsborough grey suit, threatened to bloom bluish-black with several smarting bruises after their brief but intense physical confrontation in a whiskey storehouse. This was the perfect indication that Eggsy should get away more from the bureaucratic bullshit attached to the Arthur’s designation. 

  
Restless movements were tugging fruitlessly at the plastic ties securing his wrists to a metal chair, dilated black pupils staring in defiance at the honest-to-god ‘cowboy’ refuting their story and attempting to set their balls on fire. Now _that_ was a first, the King mused. Even after all the torture resistance and intimidation techniques he had survived over the past two and half years, he had yet to come across another attempt at interrogation filled with such hilarity and simultaneous disconcertion. 

  
It left him feeling a little out of his depth. 

  
One did not become Arthur without surviving a three week trail at the hands of the Queen’s Royal Guard, MI5, MI6 and GCHQ. The hell he had endured and the secrets he had garnered during that time, was more than enough to send his internal senses reeling with panic at the mere thought. A visible tell he had been trained to hide just as well as the shaking now accompanying his bound limbs. The throbbing migraine splitting apart his skull and the liquid layer of adrenalin flooding his veins, was likewise just as challenging to keep off his features. 

  
This was no joke. The Americans seemed somewhat more creative than their English counterparts but more gentle in other aspects. Even if Eggsy had spent almost two weeks in Medical after his official coronation had passed, it did not mean that he couldn’t see this situation slowly spinning out of hand. He could already see that Merlin’s profanities and incompliance was angering their aggressor, just as much as his own assessing mind and silence was grating on the man’s nerves. And a slipping power imbalance between three highly trained spies: one a handler, another an enemy agent and the other the head of a spy organization was _never_ a good thing—. 

  
Jesus _fuck_! He cursed internally. The stink of alcohol was _so_ strong, soaking through the bulletproof fabric of his suit as the nearly overwhelming accompaniment of metallic gun powder, lighter fluid and medical-grade antiseptic threatened to tear his mind apart. The heady miasma was slowly drowning out the rest of his senses, the unfamiliar presence of Kingsman tranquilizers in his blood unbalancing his usual lightning-quick responses as he shifted his feet in the hopes of clicking his Oxfords together to free the hidden blade. 

  
Only, smart little fucker that the American was, he had tied their ankles to the chair with enough force that they could barely move. 

  
‘What ‘bout you?’ Freezing in surprise at the sharp blue-eyed gaze that turned towards him, viridian green eyes sparkling with barely contained amusement as he glanced in Merlin’s direction for any hidden observations. Turning the corner of his lip upwards into an unruffled smirk when he found none, it would be just like the Scott to give him free reign to say whatever he wanted. 

  
‘ _Me?’_ He emphasized in surprise, taking a moment to stretch out his spine in his seat as he refused to drop the intensity clouding his gaze. He wasn’t easily intimated, especially since he had survived twelve bloody years under Dean’s thumb. The smooth confidence and grace his gentlemanly veneer as Arthur afforded him, also played a large role in his deliberate arrogance. Eggsy had a lot of issues with his self-worth and self-esteem, but being dominated into submission by a few threats, a lighter and some spilled in alcohol was certainly _not_ one of them. 

  
‘Yeah.’ The cowboy eventually prompted. 

  
‘Nah,’ He drawled out deliberately slow, quirking an amused brow as he peeked challengingly at his opponent from beneath long lashes. ‘I _love_ a Jack an’ Coke, bruv.’ He accentuated, playing up the roughness of his South London accent as he threw a cheeky wink to accompany the amused chortle spilling from his lips. 

  
He did _so_ love riling up pieces of shit. 

  
‘But I _do_ agree with the part where y’ go _fuck_ y’rself.’ The rare, disguised, snort he got from Merlin was well worth it; watching, waiting patiently for the challenge in his words to fuel the fire already lit beneath their arses. It was a useless endeavour, it seemed. The man was unflappable. Or maybe he just didn’t get British humour? 

  
Before he could say anything more however, the tall bastard picked up one of Eggsy’s confiscated duel barrel pistols before checking the clip was loaded and seamlessly cocking back the barrel. It was a damn sight better than the previous shotgun, Eggsy mused. Much less messy. But still, it held the same amount of lethality that any other gun wielded by a potential enemy had. 

  
Not that they were supposed to be enemies. The coded message Merlin had sent whilst they were still on the plane, had yet to be received or decrypted it seemed. All that was left now, was to stall for time in the hope that someone, somewhere, would find the documentation of the alliance agreement their agencies’ forefathers had signed in 1926. 

  
‘Right,’ Snapping back to reality at the unamused tone grating against his senses, confused green eyes watched in tensed silence as long fingers reached for a carefully concealed switch on the back wall. ‘If that’s how ya’ll gonna be, let’s see what happens when I switch things up a bit.’ 

  
The instant frosted glass faded to crystal-clear transparency, something deep and painful shattered within the twenty-five-year-old. A white-knuckled grip, fighting hard enough against unforgiving plastic to cut into pale skin, prompted large droplets of deep vermillion red to blossom across frantically twisting wrists. The unforgiving lash of agony that accompanied the blood’s appearance, barely phased Eggsy’s simmering disbelief as he yearned to throw his body through the two way mirror regardless of the consequences. 

  
‘ _Fuck_ me,’ He whispered in reverent surprise, unaware of a Scottish brogue rumbling its own surprised profanities beside him as he refused to blink… _just_ in case fate decided to tear away the beautiful sight unfolding before him. It simply _couldn’t_ be, he howled deafeningly inside his head. A broken sob, precariously caught in the back of his throat; slipping passed parted lips in the form of a long, desperate, whine as the burning sear of emotions flooded imminent tears across the tips of long back lashes. 

  
Harry. Harry, his beloved, dead, shot-in-the-head, mentor _Harry_ was calmly going through the familiar motions of scraping shaving cream off the side of his left cheek with deadly precision. Unaware and uncaring of the chaos that erupted through the small sterile interrogation room on the other side of his padded accommodations. The glint of a silver razor and obtrusive black eyepatch, imploded the younger Kingsman’s heart as he swayed unconsciously in his seat. 

  
It felt like his world had come crashing down his ears, all the oxygen stolen from his lungs as he prayed and prayed and prayed to whatever deity that would listen, that Harry was still alive and this was not some fucked up spy trick to get inside his head. His roiling elation was rudely interrupted however, when the safety of a gun clicked off and pointed a black barrel at the unseeing agent’s head. 

  
Eggsy couldn’t think in that moment, he couldn’t _breathe_ ; a desperate cry of “HARRY” hoping to resound through the thick two-way mirror glass as his blood roared deafeningly in his ears. He couldn’t let this happen, not again. He _refused._

  
‘ _No, no, no, no, no_!’ He chanted pleadingly, unable to watch this happen a second time. This time Eggsy wouldn’t survive the raw wound, he’d rather take a gun to his own head than watch as another bullet stole his beloved’s soul away from him. It was—. 

  
Eggsy didn’t break easily, he did not bow or have many regrets. He was remarkably resilient even under the most stressful of circumstances. But this time, _this_ time he lost himself. His senses were narrowing down to a deliberate point, his mind blissfully shutting down one thought at a time as he pleaded for someone, _anyone_ , to stop this madman from taking his Harry away from him mere seconds after he found him again. 

  
His voice was bouncing hoarsely against four walls, his own words an unreadable mess in his ears as the cuts on his wrists only aggravated the spilling of blood the harder he fought. Even when the steel door behind them was unceremoniously thrown open and a feminine voice declared that their story had checked out, the young King couldn’t find it in himself to calm down. The frisk of a fluffy towel drying their trousers, did not even registered in his consciousness as several deep breaths did precious little to ease the icy fear bubbling in his chest. 

  
‘I’m so sorry,’ The newcomer whispered quietly, almost afraid to startle him from his panic as she moved over to Merlin a few seconds later. Their interrogator had introduced himself as Agent Tequila not long after, daring to imply that the actions against them shouldn’t warrant any hard feelings. Feeling a brisk and frozen anger taking the place of his previously overwhelming apprehension, Eggsy gritted his teeth in pure defiance as he sharpened his already lethal gaze. He sure as _hell_ was not taking this sitting down, thank you _very_ much. 

  
‘This is the part where you untie us.’ He hissed with as much venom as his distress would allow, saying nothing of the razor sharp knife slicing through the plastic of their bonds as he yanked his injured wrists away from Ginger Ale’s codling touch. Trembling fingertips were snapping the cuffs of his shirt over the bloodied cuts, paying little mind to the stains spreading through several layers of cotton as he shakily forced himself to his feet. 

  
‘Arthur,’ A concerned brogue was at his ear an instant later, a familiar and calming presence faithfully falling in step beside him as the subtle flinch of his shoulders barely concealed the anguish un-coordinating his limbs. Eggsy didn’t think he could withstand a lecture on the value of disassociating from his emotions right now and treating his wounds first, not when his very soul was on the other side of that two-way mirror and shattering a complex knot of emotions he had barely survived till today. 

  
A crippling weight of relief was descending upon heavily tensed shoulders, bringing forth a stark contrast to the black abyss he had just stepped away from as the steady echo of polished black Oxfords led him down the hall towards a door neatly identical to the one they had just been locked behind. It had been over a year since Harry’s confrontation with Valentine, a sharp lash of pain exploding in the depths of the young man’s lungs as he recalled the padded room filled with scribbles of butterflies all over soft walls. Had Statesman kept Harry locked up all this time? 

  
Curling trembling fingertips into frustrated fists by his side, a deep steadying breath preceded the sharp yank of the metallic door beneath his palm as Eggsy fought an increasingly difficult battle inside himself. It was hard to remember the original reason they had come here, especially after he had just found the biggest piece of his soul he had thought he had lost five-hundred-and-twenty days ago, had _watched_ being torn away from him with a bullet to the head.  
_‘Harry,’_ He breathed reverently, the name like a sanctified prayer upon his lips as his heart raced a painful tattoo against cage of his chest. He didn’t know if he could do this now, the world warping with light in the corner of his vision as he waited patiently for those familiar whiskey-brown irises to collide heatedly with viridian green. 

  
It was like the entire world was taking a collective breath, patiently awaiting the spark of recognition that he knew would come as he told his mentor they had come to take him home. Only, Eggsy waited one second, two, seven, ten…thirty and after a full minute had passed and the older gentleman’s expression had never changed from its previous polite confusion; he knew something was terribly wrong. 

  
His heart was shattering in his chest all over again. Unsteady feet were taking a few bold steps forward as if to draw the older man into a relieved embrace, only to watch helplessly as Harry flinched away from him like he was a complete stranger. 

  
‘Merlin?’ He called feebly, hoping the tech-wizard would have a better answer for this confusion. He was falling back a few steps, bowing his head in mortification as he dragged an exhausted palm over his cheeks to capture the traitorous tears slipping passed his cheeks. Eggsy couldn’t take much more of this, a flash of teeth sinking deeply into a plush surface to steady the sobs building helplessly in the back of his throat. 

* * * * 

Harry Hart always wanted to be a lepidopterist. There was something so inherently beautiful, so fundamentally _pure_ about watching the flutter of multi-coloured wings dancing to the whims of the wind against a cloudless blue afternoon sky. Highlighted by the vibrantly blossoming buds of spring or pinned beneath the glass of his grandmother’s old collection box, it was no wonder he had developed a love for their breathtaking splendour as a young boy. 

  
After studying Entomology and Ecology at Oxford University in 1978 and racing through his courses to specialize in butterfly genetics and behavioural biology; he should have inaugurated 1981 with a fresh start in the world of academics. Only, whenever he happened to glance at a mirror it was the features of a fifty-four-year-old man that stared back at him, a poor, injured, sod that had lost over three decades of precious memories. 

  
Retrograde Amnesia, it was called. Harry didn’t know exactly what he did to himself to get it, never mind why he had been shot in the head at the detriment of his losing his left eye. However, he was thankful that he was surrounded by the colourful sketches of his obsession and provided the books and tools to study his passion. Even if he tried very hard to be a meek and unthreatening patient. 

  
It wasn’t helping his sense of self-worth, he mused. Being locked away so securely from the rest of the world in a padded cell whilst a heavy numbness slowly invaded the recesses of his mind. There was something vital he was missing, an instinctually violent part that didn’t quite match up to the achievement of his dreams. The Lepidopterist in him moved too easily, had too many faded scars decorating his body and had mercilessly incapacitated several armed guards a few months ago when his doctor pushed him into a confrontation in the hopes of stirring his sleeping memories. 

  
Elizabeth, ‘Ginger’ as her colleagues called her; insisted he was suffering from PTSD in relation to a traumatic brain injury. Harry though otherwise. He was constantly watched, pinned in place with nowhere to go – just like the shadowbox butterflies in his private collection. Harry Hart was not dead, neither did he have the freedom or freewill to fight back against his captors. There was nowhere he could go. And even if he did have somewhere he was missed, he sure as _hell_ could not remember where it was regardless of how he tried. 

  
Blinking away the familiar burn of emotion seeping across a whiskey-brown iris, a fluffy white towel carefully swiped away the last specks of shaving cream still clinging to pale skin as he observed the sleepless reflection staring back at him. It was so strange to look at oneself when you were so certain you were in your twenties, only for reality to tell you otherwise. Morosely dropping his gaze to the padded floor beneath his feet, restless fingertips swept back the natural curl of mahogany brown locks falling across his forehead as he tugged at filaments of silver threading medium-length strands. 

  
‘Bugger.’ A self-depreciating swear was violently interrupted by the sound of the door creaking on its hinges, an anticipatory tingle of violence thrumming instinctively beneath the stretch of pale skin as the fifty-four-year-old caught himself half a turn away from the sink. He was completely frozen in place during the next few seconds, staring in stunned silence as a beautiful young man glided towards him on polished black Oxfords. 

  
That was—. 

  
_‘Harry,’_ The sound of _his_ name dripping like sweet benediction from luscious petal pink lips, prompted a small furrow to appear between dark brows as he stared in alarm at the film of tears that clung – diamond-clear – from the tips of longs black lashes behind thick-framed glasses. A multitude of dark green and blue shades, dancing freely within widened irises; continued to stare at him with hooded longing. 

  
The man was absolutely breathtaking, a perfectly tailored Gainsborough grey suit contoured to the lines of a finely honed body as sinfully soft fabric clung to thick, shapely, thighs and beautifully trim hips. An unusual pink and blue striped tie was perfectly situated beneath a starched white collar, the gold of his cufflinks and the glint of a signet ring accentuating the soft, milky, hue of his skin as long strands of burnished copper locks shimmered like a halo of gold beneath harsh industrial lighting. 

  
An expensive dark-blue faced Bremont was continually ticking the strained minutes between them, several cautious steps guiding the young boy closer as he waited patiently for _Harry_ to recognize him. And yet, the longer a single brown orb stared unashamedly at the beauty spread out before him, the more he could see a deep and dark sorrow clouding stunningly attractive features. 

  
Never before in his life had Harry Hart thought he could openly admire his own sex without consequence. It was a secret he had kept from his family since he had realized his inclination towards men several years ago. But this, he was so _sure_ he had never been gazed at with such open admiration and dark, desperate, longing before. It was as if he had personally hung the moon for the young man, had become the sun to the darkness of his soul as a tightly coiled body eventually snapped and rushed towards him for a relieved embrace. 

  
The older man instinctively flinched away, bitterly recalling the last time someone had come at him like that. He had broken their arm, pinned them emotionlessly to the floor and refused to let go until he was tranquilized into submission. Even if he could not recall exactly how he had done it, he wasn’t about to risk hurting this darling creature by letting his guard down for even a second. The dawning realization that the man he was clearly so happy to see had yet to recognize him, crumbled the beautiful boy’s expression into a bone-deep sorrow that swiftly sunk a knife into the Lepidopterist’s openly bleeding heart. 

  
Another presence entered their space a few seconds later, the call of “Merlin” drawing the taller man towards him as he was forced to mind his manners and shake the hand offered to him. What an _odd_ name, he thought to himself. Especially since he was so sure he heard the Scotsman refer to his young companion as ‘Arthur’. Only, Harry had easily picked up on the deference of that title, almost as if it meant far more than a name. 

  
‘Arthur’ didn’t fit the russet blonde’s casual relaxed stance and open emotion, it was far too severe for his bright countenance. No, this was another of those secrets that Harry was not yet aware of. And as they, oddly enough, regaled him with the status of their shoes at a tailor shop in London; he struggled to keep the confusion from his face. His attention was glued solely on the younger man’s slumping posture as he informed him he was merely a Lepidopterist, not a tailor. 

  
He wasn’t truly listening to the rest of the stilted exchange between them, shifting restlessly on his feet as watery green eyes turned away from him with one last bitter smile and polished Oxfords headed for the door. Something painfully regretful encircled a band of steel around his heart, the stuttering beat unwilling to let the younger man’s company go as he took a hurried forward. 

  
There was something so inherently pure and sweet about the bright creature before him, an unexpected need urging him to enfold the smaller, trembling, body in the circle of his arms and shield him from the rest of the world. The young ‘Arthur’ seemed so poised and in control of himself in that moment, not even the discreet swipe of trembling fingertips brushing diamond like tears from the corner of black lashes, took away from his polished veneer and dignity. 

  
‘M’ so sorry, ‘Arry.’ A cockney accent slipped through unexpectedly, long fingers shooting out to capture a grey sleeve as he flinched internally at the palpable pain concealed in a single, sincere, apology. Merlin had already passed back into the hallway a few minutes ago, leaving the two of them alone to say their goodbyes as he came closer to smooth back the wrinkled suit cuffs caught between his fingers. 

  
‘Are you alright, young man?’ Carefully tracing a gentle caress across the smears of bloodied red soaking through expensive white cotton, Harry was surprised to note that he had known the darling boy had been injured the moment he walked in. Although, whatever had caused those deep straight cuts and the sharp bruising mottling delicate wrists, was another mystery. 

  
The careful inspection of a sluggishly bleeding wound was briefly interrupted by the sound of huffed laughter tinkling against his ear, sorrowful mischief misting a bright film across viridian green eyes as a warm palm came to rest against the back of his hand. Momentarily caught off guard at the warm sensation curling pleasantly in the pit of his stomach, a twist of light-fingered finesse wriggled the owner free from his restrictive grasp as they reached upwards and brush away a stray curl having fallen across his forehead. 

  
‘Y’ haven’t changed, ‘ave y’? Always the same, ‘Arry. Such a gentleman…’ 

  
‘I’m fine,’ The tremulous tenor insisted, a still bleeding cut absently brought to parted pink lips as the flash of a sticky tongue swiped across vermillion red lines to clean away the messy stain. A dangerous spark of longing was instantly lighting up the small space between them, a slight flush creeping across Harry’s cheeks as a teasing wink was thrown in his direction and a lopsided smile curled the corners of sweetly parted lips. 

  
‘’S just a small cut. A kiss’ll make it better.’ 

  
‘Isn’t the kiss meant to come from someone else?’ He inquired with furrowed brow, a delectable heat twisting arousingly through his gut as another hum of amusement was pulled from deep within the blonde’s chest. The darling creature was absolutely stunning in that moment, the pained sorrow of his expression melting away in lieu of bright enjoyment lighting up the darkest recesses of the room. 

  
‘’Re y’ offerin’ me a kiss, guv?’ Came the teasing reply. 

  
‘I-I—!’ Stuttering though a whirl of embarrassment, Harry was luckily saved from explaining further as the young man bowed briefly in his direction and headed towards the door where a severe Merlin had appeared again a few seconds ago. 

  
‘Name’s Eggsy, luv. I’ll see y’ round, yeah?’ And just like that the Lepidopterist was left alone in his cell, the harsh white walls closing in on him as he pondered the stab of dark arousal heating his blood. And all because of the strangely macabre and heady, blood-stained, display he had just witnessed. 

  
Why did the small smear of vermillion red on Eggy, or was it Eggsy’s, bottom lip look so inviting to him? It was—. 

  
Hissing a quiet curse from parted lips, Harry found his attention drifting with great difficulty back to his studies as he seated himself at his desk. It would take a _very_ long time until he’d be able to forget what he just seen, a thrumming heat of anticipation already seeping beneath the stretch of his skin as he thought of seeing the darling young man again. 

  
It was going to be a difficult to fall asleep that night, he mused. It was going to be even more difficult to conceal the arousal that coursed scorching hot through his blood if he allowed his thoughts to drift into his own debauched desires to spread the young man out beneath him. 

* * * *  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I really appreciate it. 
> 
> Please leave a little review if you'd be so kind, it would mean the world to me to hear back from you. :)
> 
> Yours Always  
> Chocolate Carnival

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much, I'll see you with a new update in a week or so...depending on how quickly I can write it. Hehe, the fight scene with Charlie; it's going to take some time to write out perfectly. Hehe, it was one of my favourite parts of the movie. 
> 
> Please leave me a little review, I'd really appreciate it. 
> 
> Yours Always  
> Chocolate Carnival


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